And Then He Took My Hand Part 2: Jasper
by hopesallthings
Summary: Since you all seem to love Carlisle father/son fics... Just a bunch of oneshots with Carlisle and his sons. Here's part 2 of it. And no, I'm far from done with Emmetts' part. I just had a momentary loss of inspiration and decided to start with Jasper.
1. Chapter 1

**First and foremost, I'd like to point out that I'm very far from finished with Emmetts' part of this story. But, I momentarily ran out of ideas, so I decided to just go ahead and write a chapter for Jasper while I was waiting for inspiration. So, if any of you have any ideas for what else I can do for Emmett, or Edward and Jasper for that matter, you know I'm always looking for ideas. **

Carlisle's Pov

1958

I ran in the direction Edward had pointed me in, sprinting across the ground, dodging the thick trees as fast as I could manage, pushing myself more than I could ever remember doing, only stopping a few times to quickly inhale, trying to catch Jasper's scent, make sure I was still following the right path.

The heavy rain pounded against my body in sheets, but I ignored it completely. I could care about soaked clothes later. He needed me _now_.

I don't exactly know why I was the one running. Normally it was Alice who took off like a jet after him whenever something like this happened. Even though Alice was out of town right at the moment, on a shopping trip with Esme and Rosalie, I still didn't understand why it was me who fell next in line in responsibility for this. I would have thought Emmett would be the one to volunteer, seeing that his easy nature and warm personality made everyone—even someone like Jasper—feel more comfortable. By far, it was always Emmett who Jasper seemed the most leisurely around.

And yet there I was, running through the darkness, trying to catch up to him before he got too ahead of me.

And in a way, I was worried about how much help I'd really be capable of donating. When I said Jasper was the most leisurely around Emmett, I meant he stood there stiff with wary eyes, his past still refusing to leave room for trust to anyone but Alice. Things got even worse when it was someone else.

And in heavens' name, how was I supposed to know what he'd need from me? He hated being touched by anyone and everyone, so any kind of physical comfort I would have normally offered was immediately out of the question. He didn't like to talk about his feelings, strangely enough for someone with his genre of gift. Actually, he didn't like talking particularly at all, so that wasn't going to do much good. Asking him what he needed, what he wanted me to do, wasn't on my list, either. Every single time I tried going down that route, he'd brush me off with a thank you and as much of a smile as I thought I was ever going to get out of him.

It…unnerved me…to a certain extent, how opposed he was for asking for things. I wanted to help him; that was the Gods' honest truth. Every time I saw the trademark frown he always wore, I wanted to know. Every time I saw him clench his fists in pain when the emotions became too much for him, I wanted to know. Every time I came home from work to see everyone but him sitting together enjoying each others' company while he sat alone somewhere, I wanted to know. Time and time again I wanted to just shout out, "Please, just tell me what you need!" But that wouldn't fare too well. I asked. I asked as much as I could. 'Is there anything you need', 'Is there anything I can do for you', 'If you ever want anything, don't hesitate to ask', 'Do you have anything in particular you want me to get for you when I go out later'. It was always the same response. A response that I happened to know for a fact was a lie. "No thank you sir. I'm fine."

That was another thing. Sir. It was always sir. Always ma'am. Always Dr. Cullen or Mrs. Cullen. Always so formal.

I hated it.

Even on those rare occasions when he was actually out in public, and I introduced him. The yearning was always there. I always wanted so badly to say, "And this is Jasper, my son." But I knew for a fact that he wouldn't cope very well with being called my son. So that was all I said. "This is Jasper." Nothing more. And it was never "This is my father", either. He didn't even go so far as to call me his legal guardian. "This is Dr. Cullen." That was it. Followed by an awkward silence.

And I hated it.

I wanted more than anything to be as close to him as I was to my other children. I wanted to know how to make this transition easier for him. I wanted so, so badly to understand what he needed; wanted for him to tell me what he wanted, what his shallowest and deepest desires were. But he refused to tell me. "I'm fine sir." It was the most I got, and I knew that was a lie. He wasn't 'fine', unless our definitions of the word were dramatically different. He suffered each and every day; I could see it in his eyes. The thing that got under my skin was that he never said anything. He never verbalized the pain he went through—he tried to hide it.

It never changed. After over five years, nothing ever once went off the exact same route. Jasper Whitlock remained a complete mystery to everyone it seemed except Alice. Actually, even Alice knew he was keeping things from her, though what those things were, she was clueless towards.

And so, pacing through the forest trying to find him late at night in the pouring rain, I was completely clueless and absolutely terrified. Fear seemed to pound through my veins with every second that passed. If I didn't catch up to him; if he left, with the intent of never coming back, I didn't know what I'd do. Even after such a short time, it was impossible to imagine our family without Alice and Jasper. Not having one of them there would be just…wrong. And as formal as he was, that never once stopped me from considering him to be my son.

I couldn't lose a son. The idea of never seeing one of my children again was unbearable; one of the most effective torture methods I could think of.

I slowed to a quick walk, careful not to lose his smell, getting a grip on my bearings as I skimmed over the trees. I recognized this place. About fourteen miles from the house. Only a few minutes' run. Still too far for Edward to hear me if I needed his help.

That's when I spotted him.

He was sitting on a boulder next to the river that flowed through our backyard, seemingly oblivious to the harsh rain that was pelting him. His body was slouched over, elbows against his knees, face buried in his hands, normal curls straight against his neck, his bangs dripping with water down onto his face. Even with the almost ten yards that were separating us, I could feel the pain, anger, panic, turmoil, fear, and above all, desperation, from where I was.

I walked slowly forward, just barely restraining myself from running full speed and embracing him, telling him to never scare me like that again.

A leaf crunched under my foot and his head snapped up, my golden gaze meeting the red of his. He jumped up from his spot, backing up slightly, and I raised my hands, slowing my pace, but continued to walk forward. His breathing quickened as I neared, and he looked down to the ground in shame.

"I'm sorry Dr. Cullen," he mumbled quietly, his Texan accent more pronounced than usual, like it always was when he became stressed. "It won't happen again."

I tried not to let him feel the sudden pang of sympathy that rushed to my chest. It didn't take an expert to realize how much he hated it when people pitied him. I was no exception.

I stopped walking a few feet away from him, my hands still lingering in the air. "It's alright." I made my voice as gentle, as understanding as I could manage. "It happens to us all. Lapses are just a part of what we are."

He angrily brought his hand up to the back of his neck and fiercely started rubbing, not bothering to stop the annoyance that suddenly left him. He turned around slightly, as if debating to try and walk away, but then took a step back, seeming lost at what to do next. It was eerily similar to a child in a mall after losing sight of his parents, the only guide and protector in his life stripped away in an unfamiliar place.

"Jasper…" I reached out to comfort him before I remembered who I was dealing with, and he backed quickly away from my hand, and I could tell he had to consciously fight to not sink into a defensive crouch.

I didn't let him feel my sudden hurt, though I was used to this kind of resistance from him by now.

Giving up, I sat on the boulder he was previously at, my patient façade up in place. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I saw him shake his head once.

I tried again. "Edward said it happened when you were out hunting." I tried to show him I wasn't mad, just worried about him. "Jasper, I could have never expected you to not attack. Everyone else in the family would have done the same." He seemed to brush off my words, and I made my voice a bit harder. "You were hunting. Your instincts were already in control. It wasn't your decision, it was your body. Don't blame yourself for that."

He just stared at the ground, clearly not agreeing with me. This time I couldn't quite fully block the sympathy I felt; out of all of us, he tried the hardest, put in the most effort, and still ended up with the most pain.

Standing up, but not approaching him in fear he'd back away, I tried to make my voice as resolute as possible. "Let's get you home. You're completely soaked."

And that was the truth. His clothes clung to his body, easily defining his muscles, as his hair continued to drip down over his eyes, the blood from the incident earlier on remaining stained to his form.

He shook his head again, but didn't look up at me.

I crossed my arms. "Jasper, if you really think I'm leaving without you, then I highly suggest you reevaluate your plans. I came out here to find you and bring you back, and I don't intend on not following through with that."

He didn't answer. Didn't even shake his head this time.

My voice softened. "Do you need to hunt?" Although the understanding tone was quiet, I knew he could hear it through the rain that was picking up. "It can help, when our thoughts are getting the best of us, to allow instinct to take over for a while."

"No sir."

Sighing, I was about to take a step towards him, but once again reminded myself this was Jasper I was working with. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? I know you probably don't think it would help, but it usually does."

"No thank you sir."

Carefully keeping my patience in check, I tried once more. "We should head back."

He didn't move.

"Come on. We'll get you into the shower. The warmth will feel good. Some dry clothes."

He remained set in stone. "You go ahead."

"Apparently I didn't make it clear," I started softly. "That I'm not going anywhere without you." Using the one thing I could only think of having a chance to work, I went out on a limb. "Alice would want you to come home."

He shrugged, though couldn't quite fully hide the flash of pain in his eyes. "She'd live."

"You can't be serious. You're not honestly planning on leaving, are you?" He looked down further to the ground, blocking his face from my sight, as the fear that I wouldn't be able to stop him once again came crashing down on me. "Do you really believe I'm just about to leave you here alone?" My tone was incredulous, unable to comprehend he could think that, though the next words out of my mouth were soft, spoken mostly to myself. "You really don't understand how afraid I was, I still am, do you? How scary the idea of you leaving is to me. That you were okay."

My stomach filled with shame, though I knew it didn't belong to me, before he quickly realized what was happening. "I'm sorry sir."

Roughly rubbing a hand over my face, I struggled to keep my cool with his unresponsive attitude. "I don't want your apologies. As I said before, I just want you to come home. I just want to know that you're alright."

He nodded, though still refused to meet my gaze. "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine."

I watched him carefully, struggling once more to keep the pity at its minimum, though the sound of his broken voice made it hard to do. "Then why do I get the feeling that you're not?"

No answer.

"Jasper, please, just tell me what you need," I practically begged, unconsciously taking a step forward.

He took a step back.

"You clearly don't want to go back to the house. Fine then, we don't have to. But I don't know what you need unless you tell me."

"Don't need anything." His voice, even to me, was nearly inaudible as the rain continued to pound against the mud and leaves of the forest floor.

I stared at him for a long moment, silently praying to God that He'd help me see how to deal with this boy. Have Him give me some small parcel of an idea as to what my next action was supposed to be. I knew the rest of my family. I knew how to comfort them in a situation like this, somewhat because they actually told me. I was clueless when it came to Jasper. I was clueless as to how to make his life easier, more bearable. Leave him alone? Just let him leave, walk out on the life he had begun to create with us? That was clearly what he wanted. Unfortunately that was also one of the only things I wasn't capable of doing.

And so I gambled with words. "I find that hard to believe, considering you're out here, completely drenched, looking absolutely miserable, instead of being at home where you should be, happy and content."

His fists and jaw clenched simultaneously. "I'm fine."

One more step forward.

One more step back.

"Just need to leave," he whispered. "Need to go somewhere where I can't disappoint Alice. Don't deserve to stay here with her, with any of you, when I can't even go out of the house alone without committing murder."

"Jasper," I sighed, but was interrupted.

"Why're you out here?"

I stared at him once more, though still couldn't see the expression hidden behind the bangs. "Haven't we already gone through this?" The confusion was palpable in my voice.

He shrugged. "Explained you were out here to bring me back." He looked up slightly, meeting my gaze for a millisecond before looking back down. "Why?"

My eyes narrowed as I continued staring, my uncertainty growing. "Because, Jasper. You know why. I don't want you to leave."

"What would it matter to you if I left?"

Those words made my thoughts snap to one thing. "You really don't get it, do you?" He looked up, startled, sensing my shock. "You really don't grasp how much I care about you." It came out murmured, a statement opposed to the question I had intended it to be, though all he could do was watch on, looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Sorry." He said quietly, no doubt doing a take back at the sudden pang of hurt I didn't get the chance to stop. "Just don't understand why you ain't mad, is all. Don't understand why you'd want me back after…" His voice faded out, covered by a sudden whiplash of wind, unknowing how to vocalize what exactly had happened before. After a few seconds of impenetrable silence, he looked down again, guilty. "Sorry."

"Jasper," I started, more sternly this time, making him once again make eye contact. "I don't want your apologies." Each word was ground out, making a hopefully lasting impression.

"But I ruined it," he mumbled slowly. "You're going to have to move because of me."

I shrugged. "You really think that matters?" Taking another step, I felt a surge of relief pass through me when he didn't back away this time. "You really think that something as trivial and unimportant as going to a new town is really going to make me mad at you?"

"I should've been stronger—"

"You were hunting," I restated boldly, no hesitation in my voice. "Even the best of us can easily mess up when we're hunting."

He dismissed the piece of information as if it were the most random, worthless fact I could have come up with. "I killed someone." His expression turned numb, completely void. "I killed someone. Why aren't you upset about that?"

I planned my answer carefully before I said anything. "It's a gruesome, yet sometimes inevitable part of what we are, as I've said before. In the end it doesn't really matter how many times we end up slipping, as long as we put the effort into it; into avoiding unpleasant incidences as much as we possibly can."

The words didn't seem to do much help for him. "I killed someone," he repeated, his voice completely blank.

All I could do was nod slowly. "Yes," I began hesitantly. "I know. But that doesn't matter."

Silence.

"Probably had a wife. A family. And I—" His voice broke off, his expression completely helpless, and the rain streaming down his cheeks made a perfectly good replacement for the tears that should have been there.

"Tell me what you need me to do." It was practically a wail, my desperation to soothe his pain gnawing away at me.

He just shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine."

And that's when it snapped.

The frustration that had been building up around those two sentences that had time and time again been told to me in lies let loose in one single growl. "Do not tell me that you are fine."

His expression turned into one of astonishment at the aggression in my voice. He quickly backpedaled, trying again. "But I am—"

"No, you are not." My tone rose, not willing to be drowned out by the storm. "I am sick, and tired of hearing that, time and time again." I took a step forward, though he was rooted in place by his shock. "One time, just one time, I want the truth. I don't want to hear 'I'm fine' anymore, and I don't want to hear 'I don't need anything', when you're clearly not and do!"

He just stared at me, wide eyed, seemingly unable to form any kind of response. At his utterly lost look, I felt momentarily bad for putting him into this position, though even I couldn't deny the relief at saying those words to him after years of wanting to. "For Gods' sake, just tell me what you need," I whispered.

He continued staring at me.

I was about to try again, when for the first time since I had met him, I got the truth.

"Punish me," he said, his normally quiet but strong voice breaking into a pitiful excuse for weak. "Hit me, beat me, starve me; tell me I'm not allowed to hunt for the next two months." His completely distraught eyes pleaded with mine. "Something."

My answer was short and simple. "No." I made a move to step towards him, raising my hand to grip his shoulder, something that would have normally comforted any other member of my family. He flinched, though didn't back away. It suddenly dawned on me that he thought I was going to slap him, and I quickly dropped my hand, resuming my old spot a few paces back. "Jasper," I began slowly, unsure. "I'm not Maria."

He looked back down, visibly disappointed. Even more obviously embarrassed.

I forced myself to stay in place, to not move towards him once more. "Jasper," I sighed, starting again. "I don't know everything she put you through, every torture she _thought_ was a suitable punishment for things you didn't do…but it's not going to happen here." I licked my lips, watching him closely. "From what Alice has told me about her, we have very different ideas of how to lead a coven."

He dug his foot into the mud, trying to distract himself, but didn't say anything.

"Look," I began softly. "I'm sorry for what she did to you. I'm sorry for what you were forced to put up with. I'm sorry that she made it seem like that was the only way you could live your life." I gave one quick, humorless chuckle. "But we're not all like that." One more step closer to him. "Jasper, let me give you a new chance. If not for yourself then for me; let me have the opportunity to show you it's different here. Let me show you things have changed." I looked down. "Let me show you that you don't have to be afraid of me, like you were of her."

He didn't move. Just stood there, staring at the ground, still oblivious to the downpour. Finally he looked back up, pain written plainly on his face. "Dr. Cullen…" he hesitated. I didn't give him the chance to finish.

"No." My voice was strong, leaving no room for argument. "Why do you always do this?" He stared at me, his gaze one of confusion. "I'm closer to some of my patients than I am to you. Do you have any idea—" I cut myself off, momentarily unable to continue. "Do you have any idea how much that hurts?" He looked back down, uncomfortable. "I want to be closer to you Jasper, I want to understand you, but you're always—" My voice dropped to an almost whisper. "You're always pushing me away." It rose in anger once more. "It's always Dr. Cullen, Mr. Cullen, sir. Am I really that daunting to you, that intimidating, that you can't even call me by my first name?"

Running a hand through his hair, he glanced up at me, looking unsure of whether or not to say anything. "I'm sorry, but—"

"No," I interrupted. "I'm sorry." Holding his gaze firmly, I took one more step forward, silently daring him to move back. "I'm sorry for everything you've been forced to live through. I'm sorry that you grew up in war, that you were pushed down the wrong path by no fault of your own, that the past century of your life was completely thrown away at the hands of someone who couldn't have cared less about yourwell being." One more step forward. "But I'm not her." My brow furrowed. "I'm not about to let you walk out of here without putting up a fight. Whether you feel it or not, you belong here. You're a part of this family now. Families don't ban people when they make mistakes."

He looked down, a shadow crossing his face, which was beginning to somehow look paler than ever. "I know you wouldn't 'ban' me, but that doesn't make it impossible for me to leave myself, of my own accord. I just—" His gaze flashed back up, silently begging me to understand. "I don't deserve to stay here."

I looked at him in disbelief. "Jasper, this is ridiculous. Will you please just forgive yourself like the rest of us already have, and come back with me?"

He didn't move. "If you're worried what would happen to me if I left, well then don't be. I can take care of myself," he said quietly, his bright red orbs trying to show confidence, though that was hardly what I saw.

"Forgive me Jasper, but I really don't think that you can." His perfect face was beginning to look nauseous as the conversation carried on. "I know you think that you've got everything sorted out; that because you somehow managed to survive in the south for so long that you know what you're doing." A grim smile worked its' way onto my face, and I shook my head. "But you don't." Shrugging, I watched him carefully. "The fact of the matter is, you're not as old, as mature as you think you are. You're hardly more than a teenager. How long had you been twenty before you were changed? A month?" One more small step. "A week? You'll never even begin to comprehend how sorry I am about the things you were made to experience; the things nobody should ever have to experience; not even in dreams." One more chuckle. "But as much as you think that makes you mature, it doesn't. Just because you lived for so long without certain things, doesn't mean you don't still need them."

All he could do was stare at me, blinking rapidly, not fully comprehending what I was saying.

"You need someone to talk to; someone to let your guard down around once in a while. Someone to protect you. Someone to be there for you and stop you when you get an idea as stupid as leaving the people who love you most." I paused, relishing the words that I had wanted to leave my lips since the first time I had heard his story. "For Gods' sake, you need a father."

His stunned expression spoke every word that couldn't be said, his chest heaving heavily, trying to get more useless oxygen into his lungs as he looked on in silence.

Raising my hand, I pointed in the direction of the house, quickly composing a stern and unyielding face. "Now," I began, my voice too firm to be ignored, my teeth grinding together. "_We_ are going to go home. You are going to get dried off and put on some decent clothes. Then the two of us are going to sit down, and have a very long discussion on how idiotic the notion of you leaving really is. Do I make myself clear?"

Silence.

"Do I make myself clear young man?"

Slowly, he broke himself out of shock, nodding slowly, though the completely astonished look remained. "Okay," he whispered. "Alright Carlisle."

**Yeah, I know, the ending was kind of rushed. My apologies. But in my defense I'm sick right now, and probably delusional, so…**

**Please review and let me know if this story's worth continuing!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Bad news for me is I'm sick. Good news for you (depending how hysterical and completely insane you are if you like my poor excuse for writing) is that that means I've got more time to write. However, spring break ends tomorrow for me, so I may not get back to writing for a while; but hey, these past two chapters have been longer than usual, which should earn me some extra points. So, without further or do, strive to enjoy this one, because I may not update for over a week, depending on how nice my teachers are. Fingers crossed that they're in good spirits!**

Jasper's Pov

After the Battle of Eclipse

I sat, lying on the couch, my gaze skimming quickly across the book, rapidly flipping through the pages of _The Sun Also Rises_, entranced in the conversation of Cohn and Lady Brett. The cushions shifted as Emmett unconsciously moved, trying to get his bearings on the video game he was playing, madly shooting at people. Apparently, after fighting in reality, the mood lingered with him for a while.

"Come on Jasper," he whined like a penitent child, for about the tenth time in the past minute. "This'd be way more fun if there were two players. Drop the crappy book and grab a control."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you; reading's way better than anything you could ever do on television."

He snorted. "Oh, that's right. Confederate boy. What'd you guys do back in 19th century time for fun? Stare at the grass?"

I sighed, and pulled my hand quickly away when I realized I was clutching my arm again. The last thing I needed was for Alice to see me doing that. She was already worried enough. "Yes, Emmett, that's exactly what we did. Right after we counted each individual piece of ash from the fire from breakfast, one by one. Boy, you sure do know your history." I laid the sarcasm on extra thick.

He flashed me his good natured grin, ignoring my tone. "I knew it." He went back to staring at the screen, allowing his eyes to flicker around on it. "Then again, I always heard women love men in uniforms. I bet you had fun at night."

The only response I allowed him was a low growl, and he smiled back at me.

"Boys," Esme called sternly from in the kitchen. "I'd just like to remind you that you've already broken three coffee tables, five windows, two doors, and a dresser this month. If you dare add one more to that list…" All the sweetness in her voice was drowned out by the open ended threat, and both of us knew from experience she was never joking.

"Fine," Emmett muttered, obviously disappointed he missed out on another quarrel tonight. His eyes flashed towards mine. "But if anything does happen," he said more loudly, "It's just 'cause Jasper's messing with my emotions, and forcing me into it."

Esme walked into the room, putting her hands on her hips and staring Emmett down from where he was sprawled out on the couch. "Emmett Dale McCarty Cullen, don't you dare try and pin this one on your brother, and for heavens' sake how many times must I remind you not to wear your muddy shoes in the house?"

He shrugged, giving her an apologetic look, and she continued supervising him, much as an over controlling boss would do an employee—a rather awkward compromise considering he was about three times her size—as he took his boots off and flew up the stairs with them in hand. She turned to me when he was gone, her gaze softening, and I felt her worry slowly sinking into the pit of my stomach, and I looked up at her questioningly.

"Jasper, sweetheart, are you all right?" I was about to ask her what she meant, when her eyes moved down to my arm, and I forced my hand away as I discovered it had once more drifted of its own accord back to my all too fresh bite mark.

"I'm fine, Esme." My voice was soft, smooth, and I forced some comfort on her until her shoulders began to visibly relax. She hesitated a moment before nodding, slowly backing away towards the kitchen table, where her latest remodeling plans were spread out.

"Tell me if you need anything." I nodded as she turned away.

I resumed my reading, soon becoming compelled in Hemingway's words, but was pulled out of my entranced reverie when I heard the back door opening, Carlisle's footsteps barely touching the ground as he made his way over to Esme. There was a silence for a moment, before her quiet voice filled the room.

"How is he?" It was barely more than a whisper, and I felt her worry once more, sending her another strong wave of calm.

Carlisle sighed. "I suppose as good as can be expected, considering the damage that was done to his body. He was burning off the painkillers I had given him much quicker than I would have liked, which didn't help much. But for the most part, I was able to get him to sleep through it. Actually, I'm glad Billy and the pack let me give him anything at all. It must've taken a lot to trust me enough to inject anything into him. Anyway, he should be fine; he was already starting to heal by the time we left, along with dubbing me the new name Dr. Fang." Esme giggled slightly, the first time I had felt any happiness from her that night, before Carlisle continued, the joking tone he had assumed on the last sentence becoming serious once more. "Edward went over to Bella's. She can't be doing very well right now."

"Poor dear. The girl must be going mad from fear. First she has to watch Edward fight, then the Volturi show up, now this…"

Another sigh. "I know. I was going to ask Edward to let me give her some type of sedative, seeing as she probably won't be able to sleep for a while now, peacefully anyway, but he said that it would probably do more damage for Bella than help. I suppose in a way he's right." He paused for a moment, an odd uncertainty emitting from him. "Where's Jasper?"

I glanced up towards the kitchen door in surprise.

"Living room. Reading."

Another pause. "How's he doing?"

Great. Now they were talking about me.

"You know him Carlisle; he's never been one to voice his pain. He has, however, always been one to try and hide it the first chance he gets. Doesn't like any type of attention, including worry." She hesitated. "But he was holding his arm a lot."

I could feel his concern increase. Just super. Now I'd have to deal with Esme, Alice, _and_ him.

He walked into the room a moment later, doctors' bag in hand, and glanced at me. "Jasper, would you be so kind to join me in my office?" He didn't wait for my response before he began walking towards it, so I had no choice but to get up and follow him, curious as to what he wanted.

He held the door open for me expectantly, and came in behind me, quietly shutting it. Gesturing for me to sit down, he made his way behind his desk, easily throwing his bag down onto it and quickly rummaging through one of the drawers, putting a few odds and ends away, seeming to try and be distracting himself, and under his everlasting composure I felt just a hint of distress slip through.

"Well," he began steadily, "That worked out rather well, didn't it? Besides Jacob, everything went as planned, and considering that he's going to be fine…" He let his voice fade out, momentarily stopping in his actions, but not looking up at me, his fingers lingering over the papers he had just started to organize with far too much fascination. "And the Volturi turning up, of course. But otherwise…" He seemed at loss for words, and once again started to sort through things that littered the top of the mahogany.

I waited silently, still confused as to what he wanted me for. Finally, my patience paid off, and he looked up at me, studying me assiduously for one long moment. "Are you okay?"

I shrugged. "'Course. Why wouldn't I be?"

He continued watching me cautiously. "How's your arm?"

I looked down, unable to say the next part into his eyes. Too ashamed of the past. "It's not the first time I've been bitten Carlisle. It's fine."

He walked from behind his massive piece of furniture to stand in front of me, crouching down. "May I?" He held out his hand expectantly, gauging my reaction, and his wariness came down on me once more.

I stared at the floor for a long moment. "Honestly," I mumbled, barely audible to myself. "I'm fine; doesn't even hurt anymore," I easily lied. "'Sides," shrugging, I glanced up once before looking back down at the glossy wood. "Ain't anything you can do about it, regardless." I didn't want anyone to see it. Having my scars on display was bad enough; a fresh wound was even worse.

He sighed, startling me with just a hint of impatience, though he did a good job of effectively hiding it, outwardly staying perfectly calm. "That doesn't mean I don't want to look at it. As you said; regardless…"

When he didn't lower his hand, I uncertainly laid my wrist into his palm. Gingerly, he began rolling up my sleeve, trying carefully not to let anything touch the bite, or any of the fabric to tug against my skin, until it was up to my elbow. Sliding his hold up my forearm, he stopped it only when it was an inch below the open skin, and let his other hand rest right above it, using a gentle firmness to keep me still.

"Alright Jasper," he murmured, leaning forward. "Let's see what we've got here."

Carefully, he pressed down slightly, and I rebelled against the urge to hiss as the pain went from a throbbing sting to a replenished burning flame. The fingers of the hand that wasn't gently keeping my arm set in place danced around the point of interest, the worry that continued to crash against me increasing yet again.

Just great.

He bent over even further, his brow furrowing, as once more, he lightly pressed down around it, his eyes flashing from place to place.

Discontent.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" He never took his gaze off his work.

"Is it?" I made my tone purposefully disinterested, though didn't dare bother to try and send him any kind of emotion. He'd know what I was doing.

Still looking down. "It's almost hitting bone, Jasper. Actually, in a few places it is. He didn't just bite; he ripped." Finally, he glanced up at me, holding my gaze. The sudden disappointment from him was just about enough to make me want to die. "You should have said something, not pretend everything was all right." He looked back down again. And then, just barely enough for me to make out, mumbled, "Like you always do."

I unconsciously flinched, and although he didn't make eye contact again, another pulse of apprehension spurred through him at what could have been my pain. "Sorry," I whispered. "Didn't mean to make you mad. Just figured there wasn't anything anyone could do, so there was no use making Esme—"

I broke off as aggravation ran through me. "I'm not mad, Jasper. Least of all at you. Certainly for someone so gifted in empathy you should know that." His annoyed tone argued against that.

"But you were frustrated—"

"But not at you." He finally released me, his hand dropping my wrist, and walked over to his desk, back facing me, as he began digging through the medical bag that sat abandoned on top of it. I didn't have time for curiosity for what he was looking for as he began talking again. "I was frustrated with myself; upset that I hadn't noticed earlier the kind of pain you must be in. Even more frustrated that I fell for your usual 'I'm fine.'" He sighed. "I really need to learn never to believe that phrase again. I always know it's a lie, anyway."

Turning back to me, he set a bottle of antiseptic, some gauze, and a roll of sports tape on the small table stand to my left, and pulled the other guest chair forward until it rested in front of me. Sitting down in it, he easily spun the cap off the liquid and began pouring some onto a small piece of the fabric he had torn off from the rest, momentarily catching my questioning expression.

"It may do nothing," he began. "Or it may help much more than I'd ever expect." Setting the container back onto the table he took my arm again, keeping it still with the same hand as before, the other hand holding the now wet gauze. His gaze once more ran over my exposed skin, examining it for anything he might have missed the first time. "I'm just taking the guess, that the less venom there is around the bite, the sooner it'll close up. The sooner it closes, the sooner the pain stops. And venom isn't as strong—as impenetrable—as most would think. It's just the body that protects it that causes it to be indestructible. That in mind, something as simple even as rubbing alcohol may be enough to kill some of it off." His voice was absent, and he moved to sit further on the edge of the chair. "Hang in there for me Jazz; this might sting a little."

Slowly, he set the cloth lightly against my skin, letting the venom and sterile liquid mix for a moment. It wasn't the numbest thing in the world, but compared to the fire that had been coursing through me for the past few hours, I could hardly feel it.

Glancing up at my face, my expression must have been confirmation enough for him to continue, because he pressed a little harder, tenderly running it against the open wound.

"Are you okay?" He asked suddenly, still rubbing, his voice quiet.

"Haven't we been through this?"

"You never answered my question from before." Before I could argue anything, he interrupted. "I'm not asking about your arm anymore. I'm asking about _you_."

I shrugged, despite the fact he couldn't see it, not liking where this conversation was once again headed. "Fine."

Another spike of disbelief. Then patience. "Didn't I tell you I refuse to believe that phrase anymore?" He asked softly.

When I remained silent he sighed, stopping the movements and instead just pressed the material to my forearm, looking up and studying my face. "I won't make you talk about it if you don't want to," he began in subdued tones. "But you do need to know that won't stop me from believing something's wrong. It's in your eyes."

I looked back down to the floor, suddenly self-conscious. Just how much had I been silently revealing throughout the night? In my peripheral vision, I could see him nodding.

"Alright. I'll drop it." He went back to slowly cleaning away at my torn skin, careful to never press too hard to cause any more pain. "But know if you ever do need someone to listen, I'm always here."

I sighed at the almost indecipherable hurt emanating from him. Whenever I did that—turned him down, refused to let him into my thoughts and feelings—there was always that slight ache he tried so hard to hide, but always failed to do.

So I gave up. "I just…" I struggled for words, though his emotions did a bounce back when he heard me starting to talk to him, although he didn't show his joy outside as he continued staring down. Finally, I quickly muttered out the only response I could organize in my head enough to say. "Being out there, fighting, just brought back some memories I didn't want to relive, is all."

"Oh," he said quietly, quenching his distress as he set the now dirty gauze back on the table, picking up the longer strip he had torn it from. He began wrapping it around my arm, tentatively not making it too tight to be uncomfortable against the already impaired flesh. He held it in place with one hand, reaching over for the sports tape which he began pulling over the layer of bandage, all at human pace. When he finished, he threw the roll back into its' old spot with ease, letting go of my arm, and leaned back in the chair once more, letting quiet consume the room.

I don't know how long we sat in silence, absorbing the atmosphere, but I nearly jumped in surprise at the sudden anger—no, _hatred_—that jolted through me like lightning. When Carlisle saw my astonished look at his normally composed self, he gave one quick, humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Jasper," he said quietly. "I just—" He cut himself off and stood up, walking over to the window on the opposite side of the room, covering his face in his hands and leaning up against the glass, though the raging fury never once wavered in the slightest. "I just get mad," he tried again, "When I think of what you were forced to live through. Seeing at least an idea of what the southern wars must have been like—" Angrily rubbing at his neck, I saw his fingers clenching together to form tight fists. "And considering that that was just one battle, one clean, hardly even very gruesome battle, compared to the years, _decades_, you spent day and night in an environment constantly a thousand times worse…"

I looked down again. I couldn't seem to do anything right. I stay silent, and it hurts him. I talk and it hurts him. Bad luck seemed to follow me around like a black plague.

"Sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean to complain, I just—"

"Stop." He quickly cut me off, his tone caring but stern. He turned back to look me in the eye as he continued. "So help me Jasper, if you so much as try to somehow make this seem like your fault…" The threat hung loosely in the air, and neither of us needed to know the end of it to realize he was completely serious.

His voice softened as he took a step closer to me, though he obviously didn't want to push the physical limits I was comfortable with that night. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Death. Murder. Slicing. Biting. Stinging. Pain. Red eyes. Glowing orbs. Screams. Fire. Twisting. Crunching. Snapping. Hatred. Pain. Darkness. Crying. Tearless. Hopelessness. Tired. Gnawing. Clutching. Misery. Pain. Shadows. Smoke. Evil. Night. Blood. Wild. Hate. Desperation. Despair. Pain.

Constant pain.

I shook my head. I didn't want him to have to hear any of it. "No. No I'm good."

Though I could feel his eyes on me, I didn't look up to meet his gaze, the coward in me taking hold. I didn't want to see the pity that I felt coming off him. Didn't want to face it.

"You did good," he continued, obviously trying to lighten my spirits. "Edward all but sang your praises on our way back. He said your plan worked perfectly; that you were completely brilliant."

I shrugged, embarrassed by the attention. "Edward tends to overreact."

Carlisle chuckled, though there was no humor underneath it. "On most things, yes. But on this one I'm going to have to agree with him. You've got a talent."

Cringing away at the word, I tried to not let it repeat itself to me too many times.

Talent.

That's what he called it? The ability to effectually kill people in large numbers? It was more of a curse. Worse of all, worse than the information that they had seen me plan out death after death, was the fact that each and every one of them had now seen me in action.

No more hiding.

"I'm sorry Carlisle," I whispered, insecurely grabbing hold of my arm, allowing my body to collapse in on itself. "None of you were ever supposed to see me like that. See me fighting." I swallowed hard. "See me killing."

I tried to ignore the pity that suddenly hit me as he walked slowly back to his original spot, once more crouching down in front of me, sinking down to be eye level. He put his hands on either side of the chairs' arms, gripping at the wood, unknowingly cornering me.

"Jasper," he started quietly, patiently waiting. "Jasper, look at me."

I didn't.

He bent forward, craning his head into my line of sight. "Come on son, look at me."

Slowly, hesitantly, my eyes rose to meet his worried ones. He stared at for a long moment, searching for something. Finally, he spoke again, his voice still that quiet, soothing tone. "I didn't see you killing; I saw you protecting the people you love, and I know for a fact every other person in that clearing saw the exact same thing as me."

Didn't believe him.

"I'm proud of you."

My head snapped up, incredulous in the words that had just left his mouth. Proud? I killed, brutally destroyed without a second thought, nearly half the newborns that had been there, and he told me he was _proud_?

"Not anyone would have risked their life so many times like you had to protect someone else, even their mate." He glanced to my now bandaged arm, his respect pounding against me. "Not anyone would be willing to endure this much pain, a pain they knew from experience was going to be bad, for a human."

"A human they had tried to kill before," I mumbled, as memories of Bella's overdone birthday party came crashing through my memory.

He sighed.

Frustration.

"You really need to start seeing yourself more clearly." He looked back up at my face. "Or do we need to have this discussion again? I seem to remember having it on numerous different occasions through the years, seeing that your extremely low self-esteem has never really improved, but if you need to have it once more, then I'd be more than happy to start over."

I looked back down at the wood, bringing my feet up against the chair and wrapping my arms around my legs, pulling them tightly to my chest, leaning my head down against my knees. At seeing my new position, his concern immediately hit new heights.

Again.

"Sorry," I mumbled again. "Just never expected anyone to see me in battle. Bad enough with someone like Maria knowing I could fight like that. Even worse with people like you and Esme."

I could feel his hesitance, but a moment later his hand began nonetheless running across my forehead, brushing the loose bangs from my eyes. Normally I would have cringed away from the affectionate contact, but at the moment the movement quickly became one of the only things that was keeping me sane as more and more violent memories continued to cloud my vision.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "If I had realized fighting again would be so hard for you, I never would have asked you to be there."

I snorted, though didn't move, my eyes still latched down to the ground. "Don't be ridiculous." Fight without me? The lack of experience the rest of them had probably would have led to casualties on our side.

An image of a dancing Alice flashed through my mind, and I couldn't help but scowl at the idea.

"I can't help feeling guilty," he continued, his tone still low. "I can't imagine what it was like for you out there today."

Shrugging once more, I let his worry drop, closing my eyes as his fingers persisted in tenderly running across my face again and again. "Not that bad."

His hand paused for a moment before quickly resuming the soothing action. "That's what you said about your arm, too." I ignored him. "And yet it didn't look 'not that bad' when I looked at it."

Scoffing, I tried to block him out. I didn't want the sympathy he kept pushing on me. It wasn't like I hadn't been bitten before; I was used to it. "Honestly Carlisle, it wasn't as unbearable as you're making it out to be." It was worse. "Same as any other battle I've been in." Except a million times less gruesome and with far less pain.

That's when his watch gave a quick beep. Opening my eyes, I looked back up at him, though his hand didn't leave my forehead. "You need to go. You'll be late for work."

He didn't take his worried gaze off me. "Jazz, if you want—need—to talk, it only takes a minute to call in sick."

Shaking my head, I sent him a reassuring smile. "Naw. I'll be spending all my time trying to make amends with Alice. She was pretty mad at me earlier for not letting her fight."

Chuckling quietly, he stood up from his bent position in front of me, once more grabbing his black bag and heading out the door. Before he left, he turned back to me, an unsure expression still dominating his features. "You're sure…"

"Yeah. Positive."

He still didn't look fully sold, but that didn't stop him from nodding as he walked out of the room, leaving me in the silence.

Me and my memories of war.

**Well, that's that! The next one's probably going to be Emmett again, but I'm not positive, in case any of you were wondering. Oh, and I'd just like to take a brief moment to thank the people who actually take the extra few seconds not only to leave their comments and criticisms, but also read my AN's. Believe it or not, sometimes I actually do have something important to say, and I can always tell who's listened and who's just skipped to the story. So thank you for those of you who do! As always, review to let me know if I should continue or if you have any suggestions!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, for those of you who were begging me to update…thank you! I love your support, and you guys are constantly keeping me going as inspiration, which is something every author needs more than anything else to keep their stories going strong. **_**But**_**…I'm trying to concentrate mostly on Emmett's part right now, and then when I get that done, I'll be going full speed ahead with Jasper's. I wouldn't have even started Jasper's yet if I hadn't just been writing for fun and come up with something that would fit for this story. That in mind, please be patient you Jasper lovers (I'm one of you, believe me) and give me just a little more time with the teddy bear we all know and love. But, to quench your thirst, hopefully this'll do the job for a little bit more time until I get more.**

Jasper's Pov

March 19, 2006

I don't know how long I stared at the offensive little phone. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Millennia could have passed before I would willingly glance up at the clock. Given that the clock would have been broken by then though, it really wouldn't make all that much of a difference, now would it?

It was funny, how unimportant time was in the end. It was laughable to think that it was actually of the upmost value to the rest of the world at this moment.

It didn't even exist for me.

Not anymore.

My fists clenched tighter, willing my thoughts to go away. Somehow I doubted that that would happen anytime soon though.

Maybe there was a reason life was like this.

Violent, gruesome, and bloody.

Humans seemed to be addicted to those three things. Hate and pain and deceit came naturally to the world, although none of them seemed to be capable of truly admitting the extents of it. None of them seemed to grasp the full amount that the mishaps of the world reached to, all because of their own doings. And yet it was so, _so easy_, to pity each and every one of them. They were pathetic creatures. They called themselves civilized in their ways, though what I saw did nothing but disgust me.

The sad thing was, vampires were even worse.

So, so much worse.

My teeth clamped further together, the sound vibrating through the empty room in a sick grind. I pulled further at my hair, my grip tightening around it.

It hurt.

That was good.

I needed a distraction.

Desperately.

Licking my lips for about the hundredth time, I unwillingly released one of my hands, moving it to lightly trace the tip of my finger across the black, shiny cover of the cell. It was so small—so trivial. So how could it hold the fate of the world? How could one everyday object have the capabilities of changing the entire flow of the universe and everything in it? If you had asked me a while ago, I would have said that it couldn't.

I would have been wrong. I seemed to be doing that a lot lately; making mistakes. Then again, Alice always used to be around to correct me before I followed through in them.

_And she still will,_ I promised myself, tugging harder at the strands. _Just as soon as she gets back from her vacation. _She was on a vacation. That was all.

It was the easiest way to think of it. An unexpected and unplanned need for a break that happened to pop up in her schedule. Nothing more.

She'd be back soon.

She promised.

And Alice didn't lie.

I was pulled out of my thoughts and snapped back to reality at the soft knock of my door. Carlisle slipped inside a moment later, not bothering to wait for the response he knew I was all but incapable of giving. He shut it tightly behind him before turning to face me, standing there for a long moment, pained expression becoming even more hurt when he caught sight of me.

I pretended to not notice.

Pain. That's all there was; the only thing anyone seemed to be capable of feeling. It seemed to scorch through my body like a burning dagger, red-hot from just being sharpened.

I didn't like it.

His lips were pulled down into a grimace, the barest hints of his usual smile vanished from them. Eyes smoldered as a deep black, defying the fact that he had hunted only days ago. The thing that really got me about them wasn't their color though: it was their deadness. The empty haunt that shadowed them. Loose strands framed them; his normally neat, pushed back hair a complete mess, sticking up at odd angles in a fashion that looked like he had just emerged from a long and fitful sleep. His clothes were wrinkled beyond repair, the socks he wore as the only covering for his feet soaking wet. He had been outside not long ago.

But his emotions were the thing that scared me. He was supposed to be the calm one. He was supposed to keep us all sane. He wasn't supposed to lose it like he was doing.

That was my job.

Mine and the rest of the world's.

But not his.

Never his.

But there it was; anguish. A small killer in a perfect mind. What was supposed to be a perfect mind, anyway.

Now I wasn't so sure.

His footsteps seemed to echo through the nearly empty room as the soles of his shoes hit the floor, each time bringing him closer to me until he finally collapsed besides where I was situated on the bed. I forced myself to meet his gaze for a required half a second before letting my eyes drop back down.

Remorse.

We were silent for a long moment, absorbing the sounds of Rosalie's unintelligible screaming that was coming from downstairs, Emmett trying with all his being to calm her down. On any other occasion, I would have pitied him for having to go through that. Esme's dry sobs were just an underlying, background noise to it all; they were consistent, unending and impenetrable.

And I didn't like it.

I don't think God much cared anymore.

I don't think God ever really cared.

Moving my arms from my scalp to my stomach, I firmly wrapped them there, trying to ignore the incessant ache. My mind harshly begged it to stop; begged that something—_anything_—would go right today. If there was an answer though, it fell on deaf ears, because all I could make out was silence. A screaming silence, yes, but a silence nonetheless.

I wanted it all to stop.

He must have noticed how I was ogling the phone, because a long moment later, his next words were dead on in my line of thoughts. "She'll be alright you know. She always is. She'll get out of there perfectly fine. I have no doubts in my mind about that."

Pity.

I was tempted to say 'I appreciate your lying to me' or something of the sort, but settled for biting the inside of my mouth. Instead of answering, I just went back to staring blankly down at it, trying to keep my bitterness to myself. I realized that I was most likely giving much more interest towards the harmless thing than would be considered healthy by experts. Didn't give much of a damn though. They could think what they wanted to. Their opinions wouldn't change anything in my life; change the way the very essence of my being revolved around it like our galaxy did with the sun.

Stupid cell would.

Only this was a hell lot bigger than the Milky Way. This was something important.

This was Alice.

Unblinkingly, I began to silently pray to any god who was willing to listen to make it ring, her beautiful voice on the other line as soon as I picked up. Apparently, no merciful force was willing to assist the demonic, because it didn't even come close to making a sound.

Resentment.

I clamped my teeth further together, trying to hold my wits about me. It didn't make any sense to go completely insane. Not now. Not when there was still so much to hope for. I could lose it all as soon as worst came to worse. Until then though, I refused to give into the temptation of that path.

I refused to disappoint her.

"Staring at it won't make it ring any faster," he said quietly, obviously trying not to ruin the very few good spirits I had left with his words. He just didn't realize that there weren't any there, so it was a wasted effort on his part.

I just hugged my legs closer to my chest, my very heart burning. "I know," I ground out, not wanting to accept truth. "Can't help it though." My voice dropped dangerously low. "Don't really think I want to help it."

Sympathy.

He reached out and gripped my shoulder for a long moment before letting his hand drop back down, intertwining with his other. "I know it's hard, but you have to have faith in them. All three of them." He clenched his eyes shut for a long moment before looking back again at the bed covers. "I know it's hard," he repeated, "but you need to believe in them. None of them are ones to lose fights. They're not about to give up, so neither should you. They need all the support they can get, whether they realizing what they're receiving or not. At least give them your trust."

Agonizing tribulation.

"They have my trust," I murmured, my voice barely a step away from breaking. "I'm just not sure if it'll be enough." I cringed, the idea making me feel more physically ill than I had ever thought was possible. My guts churned, knotting and then unknotting and then knotting again to the point that I felt like I was about to start gagging. I fisted one of my hands, bringing it up to my mouth and biting down hard as yet another sob began to rip its' way through the seams. I felt my teeth sink through my skin, digging into the tendons underneath. All I did was shove them in deeper, venom rapidly dripping. I pulled myself into a tighter ball, no longer caring how pathetic I looked. I didn't have the strength to be brave anymore. I didn't have the strength to keep up my mask.

And I didn't have the strength to give a single damn.

Not anymore.

Heart wrenching agony.

Rosalie's anger flared from down the stairs, cutting against me in waves of bloody torture.

The ancient, early Victorian Era grandmother clock chimed in the hallway, souding like some kind of sick requiem for the situation, ringing through the house. It made everything seem even more dismal than ever before.

Somehow.

"Jasper," he spoke suddenly, his voice nothing more than a quiet, hesitant whisper. "Can I hold you?" My head snapped up in surprise, but he was already trying to explain himself; trying to make me understand. "I would have gone to Emmett. I know that he'd be more willing than you. But he's with Rosalie, and she needs him more than me right now." He looked back up me, his expression pleading. "I just need one of you in my arms. I need to feel one of my sons." He choked for a moment, blinking rapidly. "I need to remember that I have more than _him_." His voice broke off lamely, immediately going to gnaw at the bottom of his lip.

Regret.

I blinked a few times, trying to make sense of his desperate words; trying to make sense of any of it.

Maybe something clicked for me. Maybe the rush of thoughts made sense somewhere in the back of my mind. Maybe it was the yearning in his emotions that convinced me.

I suppose it could have been a number of things.

But it was the frantic look in his eyes that made me nod, biting down even harder on my knuckles. "Alright."

Relief.

Half a second later, Carlisle's arm was around my waist, pulling me towards him in what seemed like an impulsive movement. His other encircled my shoulder, bringing me to lean against his body. Moving his legs apart, he positioned me so that I sunk in between them, muscles contracting the moment he had me fully in his arms, gripping so tightly that it was impossible for me to move so much as an inch. His hand pulled my own fisted one from my mouth, gently forcing my fingers open and away from the position they had digging into my skin, and guided it to instead lay flat against his shirt, safe from doing any more damage to itself.

I tried to keep down the growl that was building in my throat, not willing to ruin this for him. It seemed to be the one and only thing that I was able to do to help any of them. I wasn't about to destroy that one last shred of a job. Still, my instincts wouldn't stop shrieking at me to pull away and sink into a familiar, distinctive crouch. I wasn't used to it; the close contact. Not with anyone besides Alice. This—the touching—my past told me that it was supposed to feel…wrong. My past told me it was dangerous.

But he wasn't paying attention to my reaction.

A thousand times more gently than what was really necessary, he moved his palm up to my head, pushing it so that it rested against his chest, my temple falling easily into the crook of his neck as he buried his nose into my mop of blond, deeply inhaling the scent. His fingers stroked my cheek, tenderly rubbing his thumb under my eye, over the deep bruise that I was sure rested there. He held me there firmly, not seeming to be willing to release me from his embrace.

I struggled to keep my breathing even, the panting that wanted to escape at bay. It was harder than it sounded. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on just the motion of my lungs, the rise and fall of his own body besides mine the only main point of reference I had.

There was another loud bang downstairs.

All he did was cradle me tighter, not seeming to care about what was going on anywhere else, rocking us back and forth slightly in helplessness. His emotions—normally strong and confident—gave way. He began shaking against me, silently crying into my hair as the pressure of his hold around me only continued to increase.

I would've tried to help.

Only I didn't have anything left in me.

"They're going to be alright," he whispered against me, unconsciously pressing my face further into his chest. "He's going to come home safe. He's going to be okay. He's going to make it."

Fierce urgency.

"They're all going to come home. They're going to be safe. We'll be a family again." His body compressed further around mine, binding me further. "Soon."

The venom pooled into my mouth at the fresh sting of his misery being added to mine, my throat clamping, making speech literally impossible. He was panicking. I couldn't handle his panic added onto the rest of ours. He was supposed to be my lifeboat; the one who's emotions I could always turn to for relief, no matter what.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

It wasn't supposed to be like this at all.

But the phone still sat there, refusing to ring.

**My apologies. I know that sucked, but in my defense, I wrote it half asleep and freezing in my basement. That's where my parents lock me. Oh, and I'm presently working on the first chap for Edward, so his adoring fans can be satisfied too. But don't get too antsy about that one, it might take another week or so. **

**Oh, and just a quick side note: I recently became a member of fictionpress (the sister site of fanfiction, in which all stories are your own original ones). So, for those of you who are insane enough to enjoy my writing, if you ever get unbelievably bored, and it's either reading or chores, I'm presently working on a novel that I'm posting up there, called Discriminating Grace. Anyone who's willing to check it out and review, that'd be awesome!**

**And thank you again for your patience with this. I'll try and start writing faster!**


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